


500 and Counting

by savethelastslice



Series: This and That [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 7k+ words of chenji fluff basically, Alternate Universe, Dalgona, Fluff, Gen, Interns & Internships, Misunderstandings, Ppopgi, Secret Identity, and is a fire hazard, chaebol!chenle, chenle has bright orange hair, coincedence? i think not, fluff to cure the angst from the last fic, mark is a workaholic in this one, very pg and fluffy for the pure children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 00:24:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20805452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savethelastslice/pseuds/savethelastslice
Summary: It was a matter of time, truly it was. That was was Jisung told himself: it could have been any single person who had walked past the stand, it could very well have been the ahjussi who had bought it five minutes before he had, and who Jisung had been absolutely, positively sure to have seen throw surreptitiously into the dustbin a few feet away.But no, it was Jisung who had to open his big, fat mouth.“This dalgona sucks.”The boy looked up at him, expression as sour as oranges his particular shade of hair dye would surely be.





	500 and Counting

**Author's Note:**

> chenji have the purest of friendships awh :)
> 
> alternatively titled 'an i really miss writing my other au withdrawal writing splurge'

“...all submissions are to be sent in through email by the stipulated time, yes the email is Dongyoung not Doyoung but you’re to call me Doyoung don’t ask, if you make Sicheng cry Yuta will personally beat your ass, and the vending machine in the lobby is limited to one snack per day or we’ll run out before the Monday refill and everyone will be super pissed,” Doyoung rattled. “Got that?”

Jisung stared down at the notebook in his hand. He had managed to capture exactly none of that, but he looked up and nodded anyway.

Doyoung sighed. “If you need anything just ask Mark. He’s the super intern, been here for years and I don’t know why he’s still here.” He squinted at the young man blinking up innocently at him from behind round-rimmed glasses. “You’re not actually still in high school right?”

“I graduated three years ago, hyung!” the young man, Mark, squawked indignantly.

“Y-you’re...not?”

Two pairs of eyes swivelled to Jisung, who slapped his hands over his mouth. Doyoung burst out laughing so hard he had to hold the table to keep from falling over because, “even Jisung thinks you’re a high schooler!”

Mark turned those huge, perpetually surprised eyes on him and Jisung felt his cheeks on fire. They were literally on fire and Jisung was going to be reduced to ashes soon, his mother would be very sad when she got the phone call from the company that he hadn’t survived five minutes into the internship. 

He quickly brought his hands up, shaking them as he sputtered out a reply. “That’s - that’s not what I meant, I just meant -”

“Ah,” Doyoung sighed, wiping at his eyes. “That was a good one. Yah Mark-ah, why are you still here?”

Jisung looked at Mark. He wanted to know, too.

Mark scrunched up his nose. “If you didn’t want me here then why accept my application, huh?”

Oh, true. Jisung turned to Doyoung.

Doyoung shrugged. “‘Cause you’re cute.”

Jisung was very sure that counted as harrassment. Mark himself turned beet red instantly, sputtering out a very loud, very embarrassed “Doyoung _hyung!_” as Doyoung strategically made a run for it down the corridor, cackling as he went. They heard a loud shushing sound from nearby. Probably Taeil.

When things had settled down a little, Jisung gingerly pulled out his chair, wondering what kind of mess he had gotten himself into. This certainly wasn’t what he expected from an internship with ZG group.

“Don’t mind Doyoung hyung,” Mark sighed in what could be interpreted as the reassuring mask of a smile of a man who knew he had no choice in the matter. “He’s actually my cousin, once removed, and he’s not the one doing the intern selection, that’s Jungwoo. No worries about cronyism there.”

“Park Jisung,” Jisung introduced, reaching out to shake Mark’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Mark Lee,” Mark replied. “Third year literature major at Seoul University. Was here two summers ago, now I’m back again. Why you may ask, I need work experience and this place is still somehow niche enough that it’s not super competitive. If you have any questions just ask, okay?”

“Thanks,” Jisung said, relieved. He stared at the mess of papers on the table in front of him, already lost. Thankfully, Mark seemed to be able to read his facial expressions and took pity on him.

“You’d probably want to start with this article,” he advised kindly, picking what looked like a sheet of paper with a bunch of words from the pile of papers with a bunch of other words. “It’s for the publication in two months, the rest are three months and onwards.”

“Thanks,” Jisung repeated, eyes finally focusing on the words in front of him. ‘Dance in Popular Culture’. He perked up. Hell yeah, he could do this.

As he and Mark turned to their computer screens to do their work, Jisung took a minute to appreciate his surroundings. He had a comfy chair with wheels. His and Mark’s workspace was a converted glass table by the side of the rest of the cubicles which was much less claustrophobic. It also meant being beside the plant (real, Jisung had noted, having given it a curious sniff) and even better, being right next to the windows.

Jisung peaked out of the windows to the street five floors down. And hey, there was even a stall selling food on the street. Maybe he’d check it out after work.

Five hours later, Jisung had to admit he was zoning out more than he was working. To be fair lunch had been exactly an hour ago, and the kimchi stew sitting pretty in his stomach together with the past two weeks of summer spent doing exactly nothing meant having a serious case of postprandial sleepiness.

He peek over at Mark, hard at work and typing furiously away. Huh.

Jisung shook his head to jolt himself from the sleepy haze. He blinked as he looked outside - taking regular eye breaks would help him keep his perfect eyesight, right? - and squinted.

The street stall outside was up and operating. From where Jisung sat he could see a head of bright orange hair dancing around something that looked suspiciously like a fire. 

He shook his head and stretched before turning back to his computer. His mind didn’t follow because first of all, who dyed their hair that unnatural, fluorescent shade of orange? Second, a fire? What was that clown downstairs doing? 

Park Jisung vowed never to step near the place, it looked dangerous. If there was anything he learned from his years of being alive it was don’t go near dangerous places.

\---

Park Jisung, as it turned out, did step near the place after work.

Curiousity won, okay.

He didn’t actually go up to the stall. After work he had rounded the building to the back and stood a distance away observing. A safety measure, he had told himself. Fire safety was very important, especially five feet away from a building filled with papers.

It was as small stall: a charcoal stove beside a metal workspace, and assortment of tools scattered everywhere. The orange-haired figure was hunched over the stove stirring something intensely in small copper ladle. In short looked like it _could_ be a dalgona store, but Park Jisung wasn’t going to say anything with certainty. Besides, you know, labels.

The owner, a tiny young man, Jisung realised with a jolt, sputtered a string of expletives as a dark brown mixture bubbled over the ladle. Jisung quickly made himself scarce because _fire safety_.

The next day, Jisung decided to dedicate ten minutes of his time when postprandial hit its peak to watch the safety hazard, as he decided to call, downstairs.

Today seemed an improvement. From upstairs Jisung could see some blobs of light brown on the metal counter, which meant there had been some success, right? Right. Although, they weren’t remotely circular in shape. He fancied the one on the far right looked like a star, but man if it wasn’t ugly.

Vaguely, he wondered how it would taste like eating dalgona made by someone who had worse hands than he had. That was a poor comparison, he had to admit. He had been trained by his grandmother. He put her recipe to shame, absolute shame.

“What are you looking at, Jisung-ah?” Mark didn’t look up from his typing as he called out.

“The fire hazard downstairs,” Jisung replied.

“Mm, you do that sweetie,” Mark answered back, and Jisung slammed his head into the table. If the whole place was suddenly on fire Mark wouldn’t even notice, he’d just keep on typing like the workaholic he was.

Jisung peeked back down at the blobs of brown. It had been a while since he’d had dalgona, since he had visited his grandmother last Chuseok. Against his will, he started to salivate. Dalgona was sugar and baking powder, right? It may be ugly, but what could go wrong?

A lot, turns out. 

It was a matter of time, truly it was. That was was Jisung told himself: it could have been any single person who had walked past the stand, it could very well have been the ahjussi who had bought it five minutes before he had, and who Jisung had been absolutely, positively sure to have seen throw surreptitiously into the dustbin a few feet away. 

But no, it was Jisung who had to open his big, fat mouth.

“This dalgona sucks.” 

The boy looked up at him, expression as sour as oranges his particular shade of hair dye would surely be. A shiver went down Jisung’s back because wow, that was cold.

Then, to his surprise, the boy tilted back his head and groaned into the sky. It started out low in pitch then built its way up the scale in crescendo until Jisung was quite prepared for the glass windows to break. Along the street, people cast them annoyed glances.

“I’m going to die here,” the orange-haired boy sobbed. “I’m going to grow old and die here. I’ll never make it.”

And hey now, Jisung was pretty sure things weren’t that bad, right, it was just some dalgona. Then he realised that if the boy really were his age then he had no idea what his circumstances were and why he was selling dalgona in the first place when he clearly had no idea how to make it.

His eyes fell on the faded puffy black coat, and the boy’s fingers gone slightly red in the cold. There was a tear in the jacket that had clearly been hastily mended.

Jisung Park, a voice in his head screamed. Open your damn eyes you little -

“I can teach you,” he blurted out.

\- No! Not that wide!

“It’s just...I learned from my grandmother before and it’ll be better than like, burning the buildings down, right…?” 

Nailed it.

The boy blinked up a little suspiciously at Jisung through narrowed eyes. Honestly, if Jisung had offered to teach himself how to make, well, anything, he’d look way more suspiciously at himself than this boy was looking at him right then. His train of thought made sense somewhere.

“Well,” the boy finally said, in slightly accented Korean. “I don’t really have a choice, as you can see.” He gestured at the brown blobs sitting sadly on the counter.

“Ah,” Jisung answered awkwardly. “I see.”

One crisis narrowly averted, another coming up hot on its heels.

Ten minutes later, Jisung was squatted down beside the stove with his sleeves threatening to fall back down to his wrist. His workbag was tucked between his legs like a papa penguin because he wasn’t that dumb, get mugged once shame on the mugger, get mugged twice shame on Jisung.

That bag had had his favourite keychain. He had _cried_.

The orange-haired boy, Chenle, sat on a stool watching him with utmost concentration. Jisung swirled the chopstick to melt the sugar. “After the sugar melts then you add a little bit of baking soda right, then you continue to stir until the ladle bubbles and fills up.”

He poured the mixture onto the metal surface. Picking out a small metal star wand he placed it in the middle of the cooling brown mixture and pressed down with the round spatula. 

“You’re not supposed to knock out the shape entirely,” Jisung continued helpfully. “Just a little, see, then the person eating can try to eat around the shape. And you leave the chopstick in the thingy like a lollipop.”

“Ah,” Chenle made a noise of understanding as Jisung lifted up the spatula to reveal the dalgona. He dusted it lightly with sugar and held it out to Chenle, who took a cautious bite. “Oh, so this is how it tastes like. It’s a bit bitter, though.”

“Bitter?” Jisung took a bite. “Oops, maybe I added a bit too much baking soda. Argh, but you get the idea.”

Wait. Something didn’t add up here. “Have you never eaten dalgona before?”

“No?” Chenle had that slight guardedness about him again. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Jisung’s brain short-circuited. “Then how were you expecting to make it?”

Chenle blinked and Jisung felt like crying. “I don’t know, I thought it would be easy.”

“You set it on fire yesterday!” Jisung was almost hysterical. “There’s so much paper in that office if even a spark touches it it’ll burn down together with my research! Mark hyung will die, oh my -”

“Office?” Chenle’s eyes narrowed further. “That one?” He pointed to the ZG group building.

Jisung nodded. There was a pause.

“How old are you?”

“Born in 2002, why?” Jisung didn’t like where this was going. 

“And you’ve been talking to me in banmal this whole time.” Chenle shook his head, lips quirked up. “I should’ve known you were weird when you offered to teach a stranger how to make sugar dessert.”

No. No way. Chenle was tiny. Jisung told him so. In jondaemal, because his mother did not raise a rude child.

“Am not.”

“Stand up, then, prove it to me.” So they did.

“I don’t know what they feed babies nowadays,” Chenle hissed as Jisung picked up his bag to leave. “But I’m going to make the best dalgonas you’ve ever tasted. You just wait.”

“Okay,” Jisung responded, wondering when the dalgona became more about proving a point than actually earning money, and when a random guy selling dalgona on the street seemed more close than any of his classmates ever did. Either way, he was glad if it meant Chenle didn’t starve or something.

His mind wandered back to those tears on that faded jacket. He wondered how old the jacket was.

Over time, it became routine for Jisung to pick up a dalgona or two from Chenle after work. When two little stools appeared on the other side of the counter, Jisung often sat down and chatted when he could spare the time, which was most days.

“What’s that?” Jisung asked one day. At Chenle’s questioning expression he gestured to the notebook he held in his hands. It seemed like a mishmash of lines but upon further inspection was more like a word written over and over again.

“Oh this? This is 正. It means ‘correct’ in Chinese.”

“You speak Chinese?” Jisung’s eyes were wide as he munched on the dalgona.

Chenle shot him a flat look. “I am Chinese.”

Jisung froze, dalgona halfway to his mouth. Oh. That would explain the slightly off accent he hadn’t been able to place. Somehow, it hadn’t come up in conversation before. “The company I’m interning at is Chinese,” he blurted out instead. “They’re very well known, right?”

“Mm.” Was all Chenle had to say about it. 

When it was clear Chenle wasn’t going to launch into the subject, Jisung wheedled on. “So, why are you writing the same word so many times?”

“Counting,” Chenle replied distractedly, tracing his pen over the words. “I need to get to 500 at least,” he muttered under his breath.

“Hmm? 500 for what?” Jisung asked. There was a stubborn bit of the candy that just wouldn’t fall off the stick. He continued to gnaw like a starving bear at honeycomb. 

“Tt’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Another day, Chenle watched with curious fascination as Jisung nibbled his way delicately around the star-shaped indent. Triumphantly, he held up the candy. “Look, I got the shape out!”

“Congratulations,” Chenle deadpanned. “I’ll let the newspaper know.”

“There’s one right there,” Jisung angled his head towards the office tower. 

Chenle made a face. “Why’d you choose to intern there anyway?”

“Work experience? For...journalism?”

Chenle rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but why that particular company? There are like, so many others out there.”

Jisung’s answer was ready, he’d given it a lot of thought before joining. “Yeah but ZG group has a reputation for CSR, you know? Not many companies dare to tell the truth as it is.”

A snort. “Not many probably can.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the stories of how the chairman and CEO is rolling in money. But what could be taken advantage of can still be an advantage right? Everyone knows it’s like, protection from other rich people. They can’t be blackmailed and tell the truth.” Jisung couldn’t keep the admiration from his voice.

Chenle was silent for a moment. Then, “Huh.”

“Then what about you?” He startled even himself but too late, the words were already out of his mouth. Instinctively, he looked from the ladle of sugar Chenle was stirring to Chenle himself.

“Money.” Chenle didn’t hesitate. 

“Money?” Jisung echoed.

“Yeah.” Chenle’s leg started to bounce. He looked away from Jisung and down at the ladle unhappily. “Money.”

That day, Jisung’s mother found him lying flat on the couch, staring off into the wall. “Hypothetically,” he began and she pulled out a chair, used to her son’s ruminations. “If there were someone around my age but like, Chinese, and he ran a food stall. Family and schooling of ambiguous background. What are the chances that he’s like, homeless?”

“I don’t know dear, you didn’t provide much detail at all.”

So there began operation Find Out if Chenle’s Homeless, or FOCH for short. Jisung always pronounced it letter by letter and not the full thing. His mother did not raise a potty mouth.

First person to consult: Mark.

“Mark hyung,” Jisung started over lunch one day, the rare moments Mark could be extricated from his work. But he was also very busy attacking the rice, so attention span was limited.

“Yeah?”

“What do I do if I think one of my friends is homeless?”

Mark stared back curiously. “You...ask them?”

“No but like,” Jisung gesticulated exasperatedly. “It’s not someone I can ask?”

The elder intern considered this for a while. “If you’re friends you should be able to ask them. Seriously, I think it would be quite obvious.”

Okay, nevermind. Second person, Doyoung.

“I’m just saying hyung,” Jisung piped as he followed the elder around. “There’s something off about the dalgona stall, don’t you think?”

“Dalgona?” Doyoung barely looked up from the papers he was scanning through at a furious pace. “Sure, you can get some during break. Not while you’re working.”

Sigh. “Don’t worry, hyung,” Jisung reassured him, because his mum did not raise a lazy bum. “On a completely unrelated note, did you know there’s a dalgona store behind the building?”

That was enough to make Doyoung perk up. “Oh, yeah! It’s been getting better these days, don’t you think? And Chenle’s such a sweetheart, but I’m quite sure he makes my shapes less deep than usual on purpose. Yesterday I almost got the star out. I’ll do it soon and get that free dalgona.”

He sat gingerly on the stool later that evening, watching Chenle as he returned a mother and daughter their change. The little girl gripped the dalgona tightly. When Chenle smiled at her and waved, she squealed and hid behind her mother’s leg.

“So,” ventured Jisung, and Chenle gave him a ‘go ahead’ nod as he counted his money. Money. If that were the answer to the question Jisung was about to ask, he’d have his answer. Maybe. “Um. Why aren’t you in school?”

Chenle shot him a flat look as he spooned sugar into the ladle with practiced ease. “Why aren’t _you_ in school, Park Jisung?”

Oh, right. Summer break. Jisung cleared his throat awkwardly. “Where do you stay?”

Immediately, Chenle froze up and Jisung panicked because, oh shit. “I-It’s okay, you don’t have to answer that.”

“I don’t?” Chenle asked hesitantly, smile of relief spreading and oh shit, oh shit he must have been so insensitive. Maybe that really was the reason why he was so skinny. Jisung could cut himself on Chenle’s cheekbones if he wasn’t being careful.

“Hey Chenle, we’re friends right?” The elder nodded and there was a beat of awkward silence between them before Jisung spoke up again. “Would you like to come over for dinner? My mum’s making kimchi jjigae.” 

He’d half expected Chenle to refuse. Instead, Chenle’s jaws dropped to the ground. “Y-you mean it? Sure. I’ve never eaten kimchi jjigae before.”

Jisung felt his heart crack into pieces. He quickly scribbled his address on Chenle’s notebook, the one filled with ‘正’s. It seemed a few pages more filled than the last time.

His mum was delighted Jisung was having a friend over. Her son was a tad too quiet sometimes, she thought as she had gone about adding a placemat for their guest, and he didn’t really talk to others outside of his dance class. And even so, it was definitely Jaemin and Jeno who had started talking to him first.

“Where do you know this boy from again, Jisung-ah?”

“He manages a dalgona stall behind the office. But don’t worry, Mark hyung said he’s nice and I think so too.”

“Oh? I see.”

Chenle arrived exactly at seven. Jisung had skidded down the steps in his hast to open the door. Throwing it open, he came face to face with a small basket of oranges. It looked like it had come from the fruit stand Jisung saw on the way to school.

Instinctively Jisung’s hands came out to catch the basket as Chenle shoved it into his arms. He stared as Chenle rubbed the back of his neck and gestured to the oranges. “Sorry I could only get these for you, I didn’t have much money on me and didn’t have the time to go anywhere else…”

Jisung you messed up, you. Sure it was manners not to arrive empty-handed to someone else’s house, but he didn’t expect Chenle to spend his hard-earned money on something like a simple kimchi jjigae at a friend’s house. 

_I didn’t have much money on me_. Jisung felt his heart sink.

“You...you really didn’t have to,” Jisung murmured as he stared at the basket in dismay.

“Aish, since you’re cooking and all,” Chenle said as he toed off his shoes. Jisung helped Chenle hang his jacket on the peg in the hallway, and he stood there in simple faded jeans and a plain white shirt.

“Jisung-ah, is your friend here yet?”

“Yes mum!” Jisung called out. He grabbed Chenle’s arm and dragged him inside. “Come meet my mum, she makes the _best_ kimchi jjigae you’ll ever have, I promise.”

After dinner, Jisung had stood hesitantly by the door as Chenle tugged on his jacket. “I’m so full Jisung-ah, I don’t think I can walk.”

Jisung peered over in a way that Jaemin had described as an anxious chick. “You sure you’ve eaten enough? Do you want to take some back with you?”

Chenle grinned up at him, all eye smiles and white teeth. “It’s alright. Thank your mum again for me, would ya? I haven’t been this full in such a long time. Ah well, it’s getting late, I’d better head out. Thank you Jisung!”

And Jisung watched Chenle’s retreating figure for a while, stomach buzzing unpleasantly, full of questions he didn’t dare ask. Was he eating properly? Did he have parents to worry about him being out at this hour? 

Head _out_, not head _back_. Was it a language thing, or did he not have anywhere to go back to?

“Oh, Mandarin oranges!” Jisung’s mother exclaimed, surprised. Jisung whipped his head around. “This can’t have been cheap. Jisung-ah, do you know Chenle’s mother’s number? I’ve got to thank her.”

Phone? He’d never seen Chenle with a phone. In 2019, he’d never seen a teenager _without_ a phone.

“Such a nice boy, too... Eh? Jisung? Jisung-ah, what happened to you?”

Jisung ran to hug his mother and, burying his head in her back, sobbed quietly.

\---

“Not having a phone? No one I know, why?” Jaemin put his water bottle down on the floor as Jeno nodded in agreement.

“Right? It’s weird. I knew it!” Jisung threw his hands into the air. They were halfway through dance class, taking a break between learning the rigorous new choreography.

Jaemin eyed him suspiciously. He always did have a knack for reading people’s faces. “What’s this all about?”

Jisung shook his head. “Nothing, hyung.”

“Is it dalgona boy again?” Damn, Jeno.

“Awwhhhh, Jisungie~!”

“No, no! Nothing like what you’re thinking. It’s just, I’ve never seen him with his phone. Isn’t that weird?”

Jeno gave him a weird look. “No? He’s working, isn’t he?”

“But even when he came over for dinner he -”

Jaemin took another swig of his water. “Yeah, maybe he just has, you know, table manners and - hold on, he’s been to your house? And I haven’t?”

Jisung was almost ready to make a run for it when thankfully, their teacher started to call them back into the room, signalling the end of break. Jaemin and Jeno shot him looks that screamed _you just wait_ and Jisung sighed because his hyungs were useless when it came to FOCH, every single one of them.

After class ended, he was in the process of being cornered by Jaemin and Jeno when someone tapped them both on the shoulder. A familiar head of black hair and round glasses appeared from behind them.

“Mark hyung?”

“Jisung-ah!” Mark grinned as he waved. “I didn’t know you came here.”

Jisung looked from Jaemin to Jeno. “Y-yeah. How do you know Jaemin hyung and Jeno hyung?”

“He’s good friends with Donghyuck-ie,” chirped Jaemin, and yeah. That was another reminder of how regardless of their closeness Jaemin and Jeno were still two years older than him, already in university and with a life outside of the dance studio walls.

“I’m here to pick him up, then we’re going to the library to take a look at the books Professor Kim recommended,” Mark explained. “He should be done with vocal class soon…?”

Jisung slipped quietly away after saying a quick goodbye when Jaemin and Jeno were distracted by the sounds of Donghyuck yelling out in greeting as he bounded down the hall from the music studios. 

Breathing a sigh of relief he ran out into the streets. The office wasn’t too far from here, surely on a weekend he wouldn’t...?

Turns out, he was.

Chenle looked up in surprise as Jisung walked towards him. He supposed he must look a strange sight, still clad in a sweaty shirt and shorts he didn’t get to change out of, and hauling his large dance bag. Jisung touched his hair self consciously. It was still damp. All in all, a far cry from the spiffy collared shirt and dress pants he wore to work.

“Didn’t expect to see you today,” Chenle greeted as Jisung took a seat.

“Thought I’d drop by,” Jisung answered as he scanned the day’s offerings. He picked a nice, big candy from the box and slid a few coins over to Chenle.

“I’m not complaining. Where’ve you been?”

“Uh, dance class,” Jisung admitted shyly. It wasn’t something he told others about often.

“Oh, hey, that’s really cool!” Chenle perked up. There was a glint in his eye.

“Don’t ask what you’re going to ask,” Jisung said flatly.

Chenle turned the full force of his puppy eyes on Jisung. “Aw, why not?”

“Because...people,” he eventually replied. It sounded a bit lame, even to him.

Chenle snorted. “There’s no one in a kilometer radius right now, I don’t know why I insisted on coming down today.” He thought for a moment. “Okay, if you’re willing to dance, I’ll sing.”

It was Jisung’s turn to be surprised. “You sing?”

The orange-haired boy shrugged. “Used to want to be a singer. Parents wanted me to enter business, some stuff happened.”

Is this why you’re here now? Jisung wondered as he stared, conflicted, at Chenle. Then he shook his head. He could do this much for a friend.

“Do you know ‘Dream in a Dream’?” He eventually ventured. Chenle thought for a moment before nodding. “It’s a Chinese song we learned the choreo to today.”

And so Jisung stood up self-consciously from his seat and took a few steps back. Chenle cleared his throat. “Ready? One, two…”

Chenle’s voice was clear and full, unfaltering in the low notes and the high notes. It was a pity, Jisung thought, that he hadn’t been signed to a record label with that voice. He could have been singing in front of stadiums with millions of people, instead of this empty street with just him.

But he was singing for him, and Jisung couldn’t let that go to waste. So he let himself go, and he danced.

“Wow,” was Chenle’s response as Jisung returned, panting lightly, to sit on the stool. “Dude, you’re incredible. You’re good enough to be a professional!”

“No, it’s your voice that was fantastic,” Jisung shyly responded. Dancing had started due to his mum’s prodding to boost his confidence, but had quickly become as indispensable to him as breathing. He had other ambitions, but dance would surely fit into the picture somehow.

“You should’ve seen yourself man, all this -” Chenle waved his arms in enthusiastic but crude imitation of the choreography- “and _this_...”

“Uh...how’s your numbers thing going along?” Jisung said in a hurry, desperate to shift the spotlight away from himself, cheeks dusted pink.

“Ah, pretty good!” Chenle perked up, but something seemed slightly off. “I’m at 402.”

They chatted until the sky started to turn and Jisung’s clothes really were sticking to him uncomfortably. Then Jisung waved goodbye and started to the bus stop home.

\---

That Monday, Jisung stayed late to finish his assignment. He quickly emailed Doyoung the rolders and packed up his things. Chenle might be wondering where he was. His mum, too.

He took a moment to wonder when he started thinking about Chenle in the same space normally reserved for his mum.

Jisung had just pressed the elevator button when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped in surprise and whirled around. “Oh, hi Mark hyung. Not staying back?”

“Yeah, Doyoung hyung’s sick so no ride back for me today,” Mark smiled sheepishly. 

“Ah, I see.” Jisung paused awkwardly. Then: this might be a good way to give Chenle more business. “Wanna go grab something to eat together?”

“Sure!” Mark’s face lit up excitedly. “What are we eating?”

“You know the dalgona stall behind the building…?”

Mark looked at Jisung blankly. “Dalgona stall? Sorry, my mind’s full of that research I was just doing. Words swimming everywhere.”

Jisung returned Mark’s blank stare and almost missed their elevator. “Hyung...you work way too much.”

Chenle was packing up some small boxes when he saw the two the moment they rounded the corner of the building and enthusiastically waved them over. Jisung waved back.

“You’re here!” He greeted, looking almost relieved. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Had to stay back a bit today,” Jisung answered. “Chenle, this is my fellow intern, Mark hyung. Mark hyung, Chenle,” turning to his hyung, he missing the wild gesticulations Chenle was giving Mark.

“Ah...I see,” Mark looked faintly amused by something but took a seat anyway. “Nice to, uh, meet you, Chenle.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mark,” Chenle was a bit standoff-ish today, Jisung noticed. “I was almost going to pack up, but I can’t disappoint my most loyal customer.”

It took a while for the words to sink in. “Me?”

“Yeah?” Chenle tilted his head to the side. “Who else comes every day?”

“Ah, you don’t have to if you were packing up, I can always come by tomorrow.”

Chenle waved them impatiently down as Jisung tried to stand up. Jisung sat back down awkwardly, the usually filled box of candies sitting empty on the counter.

“So...how was work today?” Jisung asked casually as he took a seat. “Any weird customers?”

“You’re the weirdest customer I have, please,” Chenle snorted. “I’ll make yours fresh today.”

Chenle took a large scoop of sugar and poured it into the ladle the way Jisung had taught him to do all those weeks ago. Mark peered on in interest and right, Jisung remembered Mark had grown up in Canada.

“This is dalgona,” Jisung said helpfully. “Chenle’s very good at making them.”

“That’s ‘cause you taught me well.” Chenle snorted as he stirred the mixture. The white sugar was slowly melting into a dark brown liquid.

“Oh? Did he now?” Mark grinned down at the boy. Jisung was surprised to see Chenle glaring back and hurriedly tried to diffuse the tension.

“My grandmother used to teach me and my cousins,” he clarified. “I...can’t cook.”

Chenle snorted for a second time. “Okay Park Jisung, you get a bigger dalgona today, since you taught me. Mark hyung can have a tiny one.”

“Hey!” Mark protested, watching sadly as Chenle divided the candy into three unequal bits. The biggest one he gave to Jisung who received it gratefully, then gleefully as Chenle handed him the second largest one.

Later, Mark and Jisung continued their walk to the station together, Chenle claiming he had some matters to settle first. Mark was doing a really bad job trying to look casual, eyes far to wide and bright. “So, uh. This was the guy you’ve been talking about, huh?”

Jisung thought back to the way Chenle had watched him devour the dalgona with a wistful look in his eyes. He had been a bit off today. Jisung really hoped he wasn’t feeling ill or anything.

Even weirder, Chenle had called out to him as they had stood up to leave. “Jisung-ah,” he had said. “Thank you. For always coming to see me.”

He felt his cheeks flare red under two curious pairs of eyes. He didn’t actually think Mark listened to his ramblings. “Uhm. No?”

Mark looked even less convinced. There was a smile on his face, why was there a smile on his face. “Okay.”

\---

The next day, Chenle’s stall was gone.

Jisung thought Chenle might have taken the counter somewhere since he didn’t see in on his way to work that day. But when the familiar spot of orange hair didn’t appear below the windows throughout the morning, Jisung felt an uncomfortable pang in his chest.

What if something happened to Chenle? Did he fall and injure himself? But no, if he had, the stall would still be there. Right?

“Look sharp this afternoon, boys.” Doyoung said as he made his way to the intern’s table. “Big boss is in the building.”

“Big boss?” Mark looked up from the screen. “Like, Lee Taeyong?”

“No, big boss as in the CEO of ZG group. And the chairman.”

Jisung’s jaw dropped to the floor. That was a big boss. “What’s he doing here?”

“Family visit, apparently.” Yuta appeared from the water cooler. “I think he’s bringing his sons to have a look around the place. The second son didn’t have a very good reputation in the past, if I recall correctly. A bit of a deviant.”

Doyoung made a face. “But handover…”

Yuta shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Here’s hoping he grew up well.”

_The who?_ Jisung mouthed to Mark, who turned a frankly alarming shade of green and pretended he didn’t see. Instead, he looked doubtfully at their paper-strewn table. “Surely they won’t come by here, right?”

“Yuta hyung!” At the new voice everyone looked up to see Sicheng streaking down the corridor. “They’re downstairs, you can see from the lift lobby.”

Yuta wasted no time in following Sicheng out of the office, followed closely behind by Doyoung and Mark. Not wanting to be left behind, Jisung scampered to catch up.

Kim Jungwoo and Wong Yukhei were already there, straining their necks 90 degrees to peek down while keeping most of their body hidden. Jisung found a small peep-hole between the gap in their necks and looked down.

The lobby of the third floor was packed full of people in formal dress. Jisung hadn’t seen the chairman before but he could immediately pick him out - a man with greying hair with an air of quiet confidence. People’s faces turned to him, but a respectful breadth maintained.

“There’s the CEO,” Mark breathed, sticking a hand to point at the man to the right of the guy Jisung guessed as the chairman and almost sticking his finger up Doyoung’s nose in the process.

Jisung squinted to make out the moving mass of people. Mark was pointing to a lady who distinctly resembled the chairman. Daughter, if Jisung had to bet. And her husband, a leader of their Chinese branches. The chairman’s wife, who had set up countless charities.

“The Zhong competency is diffusing into me from here,” Jungwoo breathed, clutching his heart. Jisung had to agree.

“There!” Yukhei whispered loudly. “There’s the two sons.”

The vaguely organised positions they were in decomposed into complete disaster as each of them tried to catch a glimpse of whoever Yukhei was pointing at. Jisung found himself pushed further and further back and further and further down, which he honestly didn’t mind too much because he’d just see them later, right? But enough was enough when someone kneed him painfully in the stomach and he pushed back at whatever was above him (Mark’s chin? Yukhei’s shoulder? Honestly, who knew) with his head and hazarded to crack open his eyes.

Orange amidst the black and white. Jisung’s breath escaped from his lips as he felt time slow down like some cheesy rom-com, and allowed himself to be pushed away from the glass.

“You knew,” were the first words Jisung hissed to Mark when they had all gotten back to their seats and resumed work, with various assorted aches and pains. Mark looked up from where he was nursing a bruised cheek. Curse those overly expressive and cute eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Mark’s voice was mournful, actually mournful. “I wanted to say, I did. He told me not to. Please don’t, uh, freak out?”

“Why?” Jisung’s voice was approaching Chenle levels of pitch. “Why should I worry that the guy I criticised for cooking skills for a week straight was the CEO’s _son_?”

“Uh…”

“I even thought he was homeless!” He was bordering on hysteria by this point. Why was he shaking, was this hyperventilation. Yeah, that was definitely hyperventilation. “Hyung, I thought my _CEO’s_ son was _homeless_, I was this close to kidnapping him, this close…”

Mark bit his lip. “Jisung, your fingers are touching.”

“That’s the point!” Full into the hysteria territory now. Then. “How did you know him?”

Mark’s face turned grey, like he had some kind of mood lighting going on. “I uhm, kind of tutored him? Last year?”

“Oh my gosh,” Jisung wilted into the table. “Oh my gosh.”

“Um.” Mark scratched at his neck. “He also told me to pass on a message.”

Jisung raised his head just enough to be able to see Mark who, to his credit, kind of looked like he was going to cry. “Message?”

\---

The walls of the place were baby blue, rainbows and flowers painted by tiny handprints. Jisung walked through the opened gate. After speaking briefly to the security guard, he made his way to the back of the building where the kitchen was.

A lady was sitting by the outdoor tap, where bricks had been laid to form a small pit. Her bright pink rubber gloves reached to her elbows and were the first thing Jisung saw.

“Good afternoon, ahjumma,” he greeted politely. “May I ask if Chenle is around...?”

“Lele?” At the mention of his name the lady’s neutral expression transformed into a radiant smile. “Oh, the darling boy’s inside.”

“Thank you ahjumma.” Jisung toed off his sneakers and placed them neatly beside a pair of black rubber slippers before making his way in, white socks squeaking against the tiled floor.

Immediately, he could smell caramel.

“Chenle oppa, can I have another one please?”

“You’ve already had one, Mina, let everyone have a turn first, okay? Besides, you don’t want your teeth to go bad.”

Chenle was standing by a small cooking stove, the kind Jisung had used for outdoor cooking as a scout. He was holding a familiar ladle. On the table beside him was a small metal tray.

At the centre of the room was a small table. It was, Jisung noted with delight, surrounded by children chewing happily on dalgonas. They looked around five to seven, if Jisung had to guess.

“And - last one! C’mere, Eunji-ah, this one is for you. I’m gonna go clear this up, okay? I’ll be back soon.”

Jisung’s brain must have short-circuited at that because when Chenle turned around with metal tray in his hands, he could only stand frozen by the doorframe. Chenle’s mouth opened with a soft ‘oh’. Then he smiled.

“I didn’t know if you’d actually come,” he said, leading the way back out of the kitchen. The lady - a teacher, Jisung realised - had left. Chenle took her spot on the plastic grey stool and tugged on the gloves. Jisung took a seat beside him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Why?” Jisung blurted out. He had so many questions that that one had simply spilled over. “Why couldn’t you? What were you doing there, anyway?”

“I - I caused some trouble for my family when I was younger. Being rebellious because of social pressure. Given well, my family, it ended up on tabloids and news articles and stuff.” 

Chenle was silent for a while as he slowly dragged the cleaning brush over the tray, preparing the right words. “I was a brat who didn’t know a lot of things, like how priviledged I was. All I cared about was that I couldn’t choose my family. So when I came to Korea to join my parents - they were busy setting up this branch - by then it was kind of given that I’d help run the family business, but my father wanted to challenge me.”

Jisung could vaguely see where this was going. “Uh huh.”

“Make something with my own hands, sell it.” Chenle shrugged with a laugh. “Honestly I had no idea why I chose dalgona. The orange hair and stuff well - most people don’t recognise me here, and my father had to have some way of verifying I was actually working, right?”

Chenle rinsed out the tray and leaned it against the pillar to dry in the sun. “500 dalgonas. That was why I had the notebook. I was so surprised that day when you offered to teach me and yelled at me for my cooking, usually when people talk to me it’s so - it’s like handling some fragile vase they don’t want to break.” He took a deep breath. “I was glad I made a friend. But I’m sorry I lied to you.”

He was peeking up through orange bangs. Jisung opened and closed his mouth a few times like a gaping goldfish. In the end, all that came out was, “dude, I thought you were homeless.”

Now it was Chenle’s turn to blink blankly at Jisung. Then he threw his head back and laughed, high-pitched and so Chenle. Chenle his friend first and foremost, Chenle heir to the number one conglomerate in China came second.

“Oh my gosh, when we found out you bought mandarins I was so scared. And when you kept avoiding the questions on where you stayed I was convinced, so convinced.”

Chenle wiped tears from his eyes. “And the kimchi jjigae was…?”

“I thought you couldn’t afford a warm meal,” Jisung whispered, biting his lip. He looked down at the water still pooled at the corners of the pit, too embarrassed to look at Chenle. Then he felt a dull pressure on his face.

“So cute, Jisungie,” Chenle cooed, pulling at Jisung’s cheek. “You’re so cute, maybe even cuter than Mark hyung.”

“Yah, let me go,” Jisung grumbled. Chenle just laughed again. “So, what’s going to happen now?”

“I’m not going to sell dalgonas anymore, if that’s what you’re asking,” Chenle replied good-naturedly. “It’s hard work, so much respect to food stall vendors, seriously. And so I’m putting that skill to good use here,” Chenle inclined his head to the building. “Volunteering at a small after-school kindergarten. The kids love the dalgonas.”

“I’m sure. So...you’ll be working at ZG, huh?”

Chenle snorted. “Not so soon, there’s still university. But I’ll be going to one in Korea, Seoul University I think?”

“Hey no way, I’m going there too,” Jisung grinned wider.

“You got the letter already?”

“Came in the mail yesterday. Two big surprises in one day.”

“I said I was sorry,” Chenle laughed. “But you know, I was really glad that day when you told me you respected ZG. There are a lot of people who like to find the bad things in the business, even if they don’t exist.”

“I meant them,” Jisung looked at Chenle, expression surprisingly vulnerable under the afternoon sun. “There’s a reason I’m interning there, after all.”

“Hey,” Chenle said softly “Let’s study well together, Jisung-ah. Make a real difference in the world some day with these hands of ours.”

“Yeah.” Jisung agreed, and it sounded like a promise. “Let’s do that.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Also!! About chenle's use of 正: it's a chinese character with 5 strokes and is kind of the equivelent to IIII with a horizontal dash through the middle, used to easily count groups of 5!


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